12. UNCLE DUTIES
VEERAJ
I have negotiated billion-dollar deals. I've handled hostile board meetings. I've stood in front of rooms full of investors determined to tear apart months of work.
None of those experiences prepared me for babysitting a two-year-old.
Absolutely none.
"Cha!" I close my eyes. Because tiny fingers are currently tangled in my hair. Not gently. Not lovingly. No. With the determination of someone trying to uproot a tree.
"Aadhya." All she does is giggle, as if my suffering is entertaining. Which, judging by the look on her face, it probably is.
I carefully pry her hand free. A task that takes significantly longer than it should. The second I succeed, she grabs my nose and stares at me for a moment before bursting into laughter, directly in my face.
Wonderful.
I have become a clown.
The culprit behind this disaster is currently sitting somewhere on a double date. Actually, all the culprits are.
Devraj bhai sa and Meher bhabhi sa.
Vihaan and Poorvi
Apparently married people require alone time. Which leaves me here. With our tiny dictator. A tiny dictator who currently believes my face is public property.
The sunroom is scattered with toys. Blocks. Books. Stuffed animals. A pink stuffed dinosaur that looks deeply unsettling and I am sure Bhai-sa got it custom made because he can never say no to his princess.
I roll my eyes. Meanwhile, Aadhya sits comfortably in my lap, babbling about something only she understands. I nod occasionally. Not because I understand. Because it seems polite.
The child suddenly shoves a stuffed elephant into my chest. "Cha."
I look down. Then back at her. "Is this a hostage situation?"
She beams as if she understands me completely.
A laugh echoes from my phone. I glance toward the screen resting on the coffee table. Sitara is practically folding in half.
"You're enjoying this far too much."
My sister wipes imaginary tears from her eyes. "No, no. Continue. This is the best thing I've seen all week."
"Glad I could entertain you." I deadpan.
"You look miserable."
"I am miserable."
Aadhya immediately smacks my cheek. Not hard. Just enough to express her disagreement.
Sitara laughs harder. "See? Even she disagrees."
I look at my niece. "You are encouraging bad behavior."
"Cha."
"That's not a defense."
"Cha."
I sigh. Aadhya smiles victoriously. I don't know how. But I've somehow lost an argument to someone whose vocabulary consists of approximately six words. I don't feel bad about it though.
Sitara is still laughing. "Honestly, this is what you deserve."
I narrow my eyes. "For what?"
"For refusing to date."
I immediately groan. "Please, stop with it."
"Please, stop with it," she mimics.
I point toward the screen. "You live five hours away from here. How are you still involved in my business?"
"Because your business is entertaining."
"My business is none of your business."
"See?" She points dramatically. "That's exactly why you're single, Bhai sa."
I rub my forehead. Aadhya takes this opportunity to climb onto my shoulders. Of course she does. The child apparently views gravity as a suggestion.
"Vihaan bhai sa and Devraj bhai sa found people," Sitara continues. I immediately regret answering the call. "You should too."
"I don't want to."
"Why?"
Because I don't see the point. Because people build entire lives around emotions that change every five minutes. Because love sounds exhausting. Because I've watched otherwise intelligent people make spectacularly stupid decisions because of feelings. Because logic has always made more sense.
The answer sits on my tongue. Yet strangely enough, I don't say it.
Instead, I watch Aadhya struggle to stack blocks. The tower collapses. She gasps dramatically. Then she starts again. Determined. Unbothered. Persistent. She's definitely her parent's daughter.
My gaze softens before I can stop it. A familiar image suddenly slips into my mind.
Diya. Standing in the middle of the NGO courtyard. Children hanging off her arms. Laughing. Her eyes shining with joy when she's around them. Completely unaware of the chaos surrounding her because she is usually the source of it.
I blink. The image remains.
Annoying.
Unexpected.
Concerning.
Sitara notices immediately. Unfortunately. "Oh."
I immediately know that tone. That dangerous, curious tone. I already hate where this is going.
Her grin widens. "That was interesting."
I frown. "What was?"
"The face."
"What face?"
"The one you just made."
I stare. She stares right back. Aadhya suddenly yells, "Bui!"
Sitara waves enthusiastically. "Hello, my favorite human."
Aadhya squeals. Meanwhile, I'm trying very hard to remember what expression was apparently on my face. Because I have absolutely no idea.
Sitara leans closer to the screen. Suspiciously. "You were thinking about someone."
"No."
"You were."
"I wasn't."
"You absolutely were." She insists.
"I wasn't."
"You know," she says thoughtfully, "the last time I saw that look on Devraj Bhai-sa's face—"
"No."
"—he ended up married."
"Sitara."
"—and Vihaan bhai-sa—"
"Sitara."
"—ended up married too."
"Sitara."
She grins. I regret having siblings. Every single one of them. They're exhausting.
"Who is she?"
"There is no she."
"There is always a she."
I sigh heavily. "There isn't."
Aadhya chooses that exact moment to shove a toy block into my mouth.
I remove it. Slowly. Then stare at the ceiling. Perhaps I deserve this. Maybe this is karma. For something. I don't know what. But probably something.
Sitara watches me suspiciously. Then suddenly her eyes widen. "Oh my God."
No. Absolutely not. Whatever she's about to say. No.
"Is it the NGO girl?"
I nearly choke. Not visibly. But internally. Very visibly.
Sitara gasps dramatically. "You hesitated."
"I did not."
"You did."
"I didn't."
"You absolutely did."
I pinch the bridge of my nose. The same way I do during board meetings. Only this somehow feels more stressful.
"She's annoying."
Sitara's smile becomes downright evil and chuckles, her eyes glinting, "The beginning." She sing-songs.
I am genuinely horrified. "There is no beginning."
"Uh-huh."
"She's frustrating."
"Okay."
"Stubborn."
"Mhm."
"Impossible."
"Sure."
"Argumentative."
"Sounds a lot like you."
I glare at the screen. Sitara beams. The worst part? She's enjoying every second of this.
"She's not my type."
That finally makes Sitara laugh. Not chuckle. Not giggle. Laugh. Full-blown laughter.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Sitara."
"Nothing."
I narrow my eyes. She keeps laughing.
Across the room, Aadhya abandons her blocks and waddles back toward me. The second she reaches me, she climbs directly into my lap. Then rests her head against my chest. Just like that. No warning. No hesitation. Trusting. Comfortable.
The room grows quiet. I glance down. The child is already half asleep.
A strange warmth settles in my chest. Unexpected. Gentle. Dangerous. Because a month ago I believed children were exhausting.
Now?
Well. They're still exhausting. But maybe not entirely unbearable.
My gaze drifts toward the dark window. Toward the city beyond it. And despite myself, I wonder what Diya is doing right now. Whether she's still plotting whatever ridiculous scheme she came up with this afternoon, because I am sure that smile didn't mean nothing.
The realization hits a second later.
Why am I thinking about her again?
Sitara watches me for another second. Then her smile softens. Not teasing anymore. Just knowing. Which somehow feels worse.
"Goodnight, bhai-sa."
I frown. "That's it?"
"That's it."
Before I can question it, she disconnects.
The screen goes dark. Silence settles across the room. Aadhya sleeps peacefully against my chest.
The city glows outside the windows.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a woman with too much energy and far too many opinions continues occupying space she was never invited into.
The irritating thing?
For the first time since meeting her . . . I'm not entirely sure I want her to leave.